


Because I Can't Breathe Without You

by OnlyMyThoughtsForCompany



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Hurt, Kinda, Loss, Major Character death?, Not Slash, Sadness, and i still don't know how to tag, but not really, but that's how it needed to be, i think, just brotp, just for the people in the back, kinda shitty summary, like seriously, ron/harry brotp, the hermione/ron is really small, this is kinda messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 01:17:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7385173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyMyThoughtsForCompany/pseuds/OnlyMyThoughtsForCompany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry can't be dead because Ron doesn't know how to live without him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because I Can't Breathe Without You

He couldn’t breathe. He dragged shallow breath after breath into his lungs and forced them out again but it didn’t make a difference. The stolen oxygen did nothing to quell the agonising burning in his chest. Ron couldn’t explain why his eyes were searing and blurring until the colours of the night bled together and nothing was distinguishable anymore. Somehow in the disarray, Ron’s hand found Hermione’s.

No one had believed it. The message had been broadcasted and all eyes had turned to the Weasley’s. Because Harry was apart of their family right? So that’s where he was bound to be right? Ron had looked over his shoulder expecting to see Harry there, mourning the loss of one of his brothers. But there was an unnatural space, where one slight bespectacled boy usually stood. The Weasley’s shifted as a group, feeling an emptiness that was supposed to filled by Harry. Ron didn’t need Ginny emerging from their mother’s embrace long enough to shoot him an accusing glare to know that he had failed.

After Ron had found his way back to Harry and Hermione with the ball of light’s aid, he had made himself a promise. It had been late that night, as he stared over at the sleeping faces of his best friends and he had promised to never lose the two of them ever again. It was as much an act of preservation as it was one of loyalty. Not only did Harry and Hermione deserve it but Ron also didn’t think he could surviving losing either of them ever again. But in the chaos of his grief Ron had lost sight of that promise and had allowed Harry to slip through the cracks. Deep down, Ron knew he wasn’t totally to blame and that if Harry had really wanted this, there was nothing anyone could have done to stop it, but at that moment, huddled on the hard stones of the Great Hall, all Ron could think was it was all his fault.

The crowds in the hall had moved as if in a dream. There was no sense of panic yet, no hysteria, no mourning because no one believed it. No one believed that Harry, their saviour, their hero, their friend, would abandon them. So they crept forward and spilled out into the cold night, Professor McGonagall leading. It was by her cry that Ron knew all hope was lost. He’d surged forward, pushing and shoving through the first layers of people needing to see, but then they’d all begun to melt back making the way for him and his family. He’d ignored the sympathetic looks, the consoling words because they were all lies. Because he couldn’t be-

He wasn’t-

No!

The word wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a whisper. Ron couldn't believe that his vocal cords had managed much more than that. But the single syllable had exploded, mangled and mutilated by his pain and echoed across the lawn, reaching the ears of the Death Eaters. His voice was unrecognisable, distorted by grief.

Death had made his best friend smaller, Ron noted distantly. Harry had always been short, a perfect height for Ron to rest his elbow on until he was shoved away by a glaring and distinctly ruffled boy. But despite his height, Harry had been all encompassing, bigger than life. Not in the way most would expect, he wasn’t loud and boisterous, certainly not in large crowds but among friends, his sharp and often dry humour had been enough, his smile too large for his face, his eyes overly bright, his hands moving feverishly as they gestured. But in death, Harry was reverted to the tiny eleven year old Ron had found on the Hogwarts Express. In death Harry was something he had never been in life, still. In death, all was stolen from him.

So Ron stood there, gasping for breath and clutching Hermione’s hand like it was lifeline and wanting, no needing for his best friend to stop that and get up right now! Because he couldn’t be dead. And if he was Ron didn’t know what to do, because he still needed his best friend. Needed him to talk to about Hermione and the mysteries of love, needed him to slap him over the head when he was being stupid, needed him just as much as he needed Hermione or Ginny or George or Bill or Charlie or Percy or his Mum and Dad. Needed him because he was just as much a brother as he was friend. Just as much as Weasley as a Potter.

Ron glanced around at the crowds surrounding him, face turning slowly as though frozen by his grief. Tears were openly being shed, sobs muffled into hands, hugs of comfort being exchanged and Ron wanted to rage and yell and scream. Because they weren’t mourning Harry the person. They were mourning Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, their saviour. They were mourning the boy they had never known, the boy whose life had been discussed at length in the prophet, the boy who had been put upon a pedestal at age one. They were mourning a lie.  
And the thought alone made Ron almost as mad as his best friend’s death did. Because what right did they have, to mourn someone they had never known? Only a handful of people who had truly known and loved Harry - and who, of those who really knew him, could not love him? - and as Ron saw it, only they could mourn Harry James Potter.

No, the people surrounding him were crying out of hopelessness. Never one to give up, if Harry had sacrificed himself it was clear he had thought they were going to lose. And without Harry, what chance did they really stand? They were crying for themselves not for the extinguishment of Harry’s life.

But Ron couldn’t bring himself to think about that too hard, because he knew it would do him no use. Instead he focussed on the feeling of Hermione’s hand in his, the only solid thing keeping him steady throughout all the chaos and tried not to notice his mother hovering behind him, shaking with barely suppressed sobs as she grieved a second son lost to war. Ron tried not to hear the heartbroken sobs and screams of his sister, held up only by their father’s unyielding arms, his dirty face streaked clean by tears. He tried not to notice the deep shuddering breaths of his brother’s as though at any moment their lungs would fail them, bodies too wracked by loss to continue functioning. So Ron closed his eyes, dragged in a deep agonising breath, focussed on Hermione’s hand in his and tried not to think about how he was going to be able to live without his best friend by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey long time no see nerdlets. Uh I hope you liked this. I know it was kinda messy and all over the place, but I think that's how it needed to be. Especially since Ron just lost his best friend. Comment below to tell me your thoughts xoxo


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